


I'm Weak My Love, But I Am Not Wanting

by MugOfCocoa



Series: The Wolf and the Song Thrush [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, Light Angst, Naked Female Clothed Male, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MugOfCocoa/pseuds/MugOfCocoa
Summary: Reader meets Jaskier. In which Jaskier is a dramatic bitch and reader is a witcher.Also there's a cute cat and mention of a succubus.Also no y/n since it messes up my flow.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Series: The Wolf and the Song Thrush [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700644
Kudos: 20





	I'm Weak My Love, But I Am Not Wanting

When Jaskier was 17, the year before he meant Geralt, he meant you.

You were in the same tavern as Jaskier, blissfully unaware of even his name at this point in time. You were flirting with your newest target, a murderous succubus, sipping on a raspberry melomel. Your eyes flickered away from the succubus looking at the bard as he performed, just in time to see him giving a flirtatious look around the crowd. Your pear green hair in tight curls, that irritatingly fell into your eyes as you moved. You despised the dress you were in, it was floor-length, enabling you to trip on the hem of it too many times to count. It clung to you too much, it’s velvet material, the color of old blood, rubbing against you. Golden flowers made from ribbons were scattered across the dress, making a deafening ruffling noise whenever you moved or even adjusted yourself.

By your side stood the succubus, to you personally she had androgynous facial features. Her hair was a shade of cinnamon brown was styled in a short undercut. Her eyes the color of ferns flickered with prisms of light were squinted as you laughed along with you. Her big ash colored tulle dress complimented her light freckled caramel skin. On her left shoulder was a big black marking of a dragon. As far as you were aware she had different features to everyone, although she was always a woman and had the same dress and same tattoo, which most people probably assumed was an enchantment.

You felt the bard’s eyes on you, maybe he was disgusted at the sight of you, or maybe confused as to why the beautiful woman was talking to you. Maybe he was focused on the succubus instead, another unknowing victim if you failed your job tonight. Or maybe he was considering stealing your necklace, which would be more effort than it was worth considering the gold casing was fake and the ruby pendant was just red colored glass. Your tight curls bounced, obscuring your view of the inspecting bard, as you faked a laugh at something the succubus had said although you were ignoring her words.

As the beautiful song came to the end you saw a bard holding a finger up, his view on the bar maiden. The gesture, you assumed, meant his singing was on pause for the night, an idea that saddened you. The bard was actually very good at his job, especially since most tavern bards were sleazy and just as seedy sounding. He picked up a roll of bread from one of the patrons table before continuing his walk towards the bar.

The succubus made some remark about going outside to get fresh air, calling you babe. If you didn’t know the truth you would have been fouled, but you knew that it was a cruel attempt to take you to bed where she would drain the life out of you. Not all succubus were bad, some controlled how much they took, draining enough to stay alive. This succubus has a horrid example, one who ruined the name of all succubus, one who killed rather than borrow. At her words you felt the bard’s blue eyes, the color of an ocean so clear you could see the bottom of the ocean, flickered to the stony ground.

You let out a squeal as the bard stood next to you, an act to feign innocence. Merlin, this was worse than fighting any monster, being a witcher required too much poise in order to not get people killed. You began to fawn over the bard, telling him how amazing and stunning he was. The succubus wrapping an arm around your shoulder as you struggled not to shudder against her touch. The succubus begging the bard to play one of his ballads. Once the bard agreed she made a comment about a threesome, this poor man. The succubus began to pull you away, commenting about dancing. You pulled away from the succubus, lightly not to gain suspicion and whispered to the bard.

“Don’t trust her.” The bard shivered at your breath against his ear.

As the night drained on, you danced with the succubus, lucky for you she hadn’t drained you yet, waiting to bed you first. You watched as the bard grew drunk on all the attention and cheers he was earning. At some point, during a rowdy song, something about pollinating a flower, the succubus pulled you out of the tavern into an alley, talking about doing it right in the alley. You weren’t really prepared to kill her yet, but now you had no choice, your hand had been pushed.

You moved your hands down the succubus’s side onto her hips, then to your own thights, mumbling about how hard it is to remove your garter and stockings. Instead you slowly unsheathed your twin silver daggers. You dug one into the succubus’s chest and the other blade into her stomach. The succubus starching your back as she succumbed to her injuries, her illusion following away, exposing her grey skin, her long curly black horns, and her leathery wings. You hear a mumbled “What in Merlin?” Bollocks, the bard had followed you, the succubus’s words had got to him and your plea for him to flea had just drew him in.

The scene most have been a sight to behold, your hands and daggers were covered in thick, chunk succubus blood. The succubus’s body exploding into a thick layer of ash, as you sputtered. Great, this looked even worse. Your hair had to be singed, who knows how much blood and ash was on it. Your necklace lay on the ground, now broken, it’s mix of ground clove, lavender oil, small braid of sweet grass, and 6 pieces of myrrh resin, fuck you would need to buy a new protection necklace. Your velvet dress was pulled up, showing sheaths. Your dress was covered in soot and succubus slashes. Your eyes cat-like, yellow and pupils slited to adjust to the dark. 

“Can you not scream: I don’t need the whole town to know I’m a witcher. My eye elixir is gone and my bag is still in the tavern.”

“A witcher?” You let out a laugh at his innocence, of course the witness didn’t know what a witcher was.

You took your silver daggers out of the air, rubbing the succubus’s black thick chunky blood off them, sheathing them again. Your black and white cat Wolf pattered up to you. You picked the chubby bastard up, rubbing his round face before he struggled and jumped out of your arms.

“I’ll explain later, help me get black into that tavern without being killed.”

The bard, who introduced himself as Jaskier, explained that as a bard he was his own distraction. Once back inside Jaskier began to sing a loud, rhythmic song, drunk patrons clapping along very out of rhythm. A cloak that the bard had let you borrow to help obscure your face and dress, was wrapped around you, it’s hood pulled up. You slowly made your way across the room, your head down as you walked across the room and up the creaky wooden stairs. Wolf followed behind you, his loud steps covered up by Jaskier’s lute and song.

Jaskier ended the song rather quickly, taking a quick bow before rushing upstairs. You stood in front of your room, Wolf rubbing against your leg, loudly purring. You opened the door to your room, pulling Jaskier inside very quickly, almost in one motion.

You began to run the bathwater, stripping out of the tight dress showing your silk chemise. You walked over to your bed, pulling your leather bag out from under it, looking for your lavender and cream soap and your clean clothes. You could sense Jaskier looking round your room. Wolf was spread out on the cheap rug. Your silver witcher necklace hung on the handle of your door. Your armor laid in a pile by your bed. Potions scattered half hastily on your headboard, in various states of empty, your fire resistance and eye enchantment potions were now empty, the cork long gone, you had spit it out somewhere on the road.

By the time Jaskier’s attention was now back on you, you had stripped, lowering yourself in the now full tub, the bard startled at your indecent behavior. Your soap laying on the tub, salt now in the water. Your night gown draped across the foot of your bed, Wolf now spread out across of it, possibly settling for a nap.

“Pretty boy, you still want to know about witchers, right?” He nodded his head in response, and you began to speak to him, pausing every once in a while to actually bathe yourself.

Like most witchers you had never actually meant your parents, well obviously your mother had pushed you out of her womb, but it’s not exactly as though you remember her. You weren’t sure what happened after the birthing part, but you had ended up in some woods where a witcher found you. Your trainer was probably long dead now or he himself had refused to continue the life. The witcher trained you since you could walk.

The mutation process had been rough, the sleep elixirs not working properly, stupid witchers didn’t understand that woman needed different potions. It was very similar to the mage transformation and since the potions were funky you actually had to have a mage help with the process. Your uterus had been ripped out, curse those bastards for not explaining the price to you. The next part is fuzzy, waves of unbearable hitting you knocking you back before you could recover. However, in the years since you had figured out that that your bones and muscles adjusting themselves, a way to let you be more advanced.

At some point in your explanation of Witchers to Jaskier so had moved behind the tub, sitting by where you’re your head laid on the edge of the tub. You stopped explaining Witchers to Jaskier, stopping yourself from moaning in pleasure at the simple act of him washing your hair. You couldn’t tell it the act was romantic or simply one of empathy. You expected his hands to be calloused from playing the lute, but you felt strikingly smooth against your scalp. You waited a moment to calm yourself from the unexpected act, stupid empath, before returning to tales of witchers. 

You were supposed to kill forest monsters which now changed your hair to a green through the dammed mutation process. Your hair was cut short; a lesson you had learned after a nasty human using your once long hair against you. The mutation left you, and every other witcher, with bumblebee yellow eyes. People hated witchers, hated what was different, so you preferred to enchant your eyes to their natural color. Witcher’s weren’t supposed to feel, a side effect of the mutation or a simple misunderstanding, but that wasn’t true. You had felt love once, felt it now for Wolf, felt fear, and felt the pressure on you.

You explained all this to Jaskier, who’s head was now nestled into the side of the tub, Wolf in his lap while he listened, never interrupting you against his better nature. Your rear now on the opposite end of the tub, you had wanted to look at his face while you talked, his eyes closed and his hair falling in front of his eyes. You pulled yourself out of the tub, the noise startling Jaskier out of his state of peace, only to get an eyeful of your naked state, letting him now see the scars that decorated your body like chapters in a book. 

“You can ask about the scars love, most people do.”

You walked away from the tub, pulling the drain stopper out of it, the now dirty water leaving. You then began to change into your night clothes, Wolf getting up to join your side, semi-wet from water you must have splashed out onto the tub, which probably meant Jaskier had some water on him too.

“Do you like the scars?” At the bards question you furrowed your brows, the question made little sense to you, why ask that of all things, most just asked how you got each one. At your confusion Jaskier began to ramble, his pale face now a crimson shade, “When I was little I got a tiny scar on my butt and it made me feel brave, like it was some war scar, albeit the scar was from scooching on my butt down a staircase and hitting a sharp nail on the way down. 

You now began to laugh, fully changed into your nightgown, hair now wrapped up in a towel, nightgown moist at the shoulders from water that had dripped down from your hair. You sat on the edge of your bed, Wolf pattering up to you and jumping into the bed before you yourself lay down beside him, pulling the shockingly silky sheets up around you.

“I’m taking that as a sign to leave,” the bard mused.

You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t want Jaskier to leave. You had it put up to the loneliness of traveling alone since the mutation, besides wolf who you had accepted as partial payment for a job, back when he was a kitten, although he was hardly a year old now. Jaskier had it shacked up to destiny, curse his share of beliefs with nobles. You hated the idea of destiny, just fates less cruel twin. Geralt upon hearing the story, song rather, called it lust, which wasn’t the case, at least you were pretty sure it wasn’t on your side. At that point you saw Jaskier has a bard, one that was pretty cute, who had helped you out and could put a temporary plug in the void of emptiness that was your loneliness.

“Can you just stay here until I fall asleep, please.” It came out sounding like more of a plea than you had hoped for, Merlin, that was the last thing you wanted to sound like right now.

Jaskier didn’t respond and you could almost hear your heart drop and shatter, why would he want to stay any longer, there was no reason to. He then leaned down, with perplexed you, even with your witcher sense, until you realized he was unlacing his boots. He unbuttoned his powder blue doublet, which he placed on the floor next to his boots. With his doublet now gone his ivory poet blouse was exposed, you mused over its ruffled v neck, how much bard like. He stripped out of his doublet matching trousers, only wearing his braies now.

He lay down on the other end of the bed, facing you, with Wolf in-between the two of you. You pretended to close your eyes, trying to make the situation less awkward but only succeeding in getting a nice look at Jaskier’s eyes. They reminded you of an ocean so clear you could see the sand at the bottom, where you didn’t know how deep the waters went and risked drowning with every step you took, or glance in this case.

You awoke with a small start at the warmth around you. Opening your eyes didn’t offer a solution, who on Earth were you spooning and had you had sex last night, you hadn’t drunk that much mead last night, had you? That stupid sing songy voice, you could recognize it even if it was a snore. It was that bard from last night, Jaskier. You noticed Wolf was gone, smart bastard. 

Somehow in the course of the night the two of you had managed to fling the red duvet onto the ground. You were now snuffled into Jaskier, bodies pressed together. Your head was nuzzled into his neck as you noticed, with horror, that you had drooled on him, and your legs were now intertwined. One of Jaskier’s hands was slung behind him, where it lay against your side, a position that looked pretty uncomfortable.

You managed to untangle yourself from the mess of limps, putting the duvet back onto the bed, carefully placing it over Jaskier, making his sleepy figure slightly rustle. You tried to change into your armor as quietly as you could, not wanting to disturb the sleeping male. You slipped on your own cloak, more comfortable wearing the familiar object. You quickly ran a comb through your now wavy bed head. You placed a bracelet on wrist, the only thing your mother had left you, a silver snake eating his own tail. You slipped the witcher pendant on, hiding it under your cloak before slipping the hood of your cloak up onto your head.

Walking down into the bar of the tavern you saw Wolf there, the bar maiden feeding him last night’s scraps and some milk. You gently patted your thigh, all it took for Wolf to come running up to you. You exited the tavern from the same door that lead into the alley. The ash from your target was gone, probably in the wind somewhere, the only thing left was her dress. Surprisingly there in the alley stood your client, probably kept tabs on you last night. You accepted your payment from the man before picking up the tulle dress, it probably wouldn’t fit but you could always get it tailored, that would be cheaper.

You headed back into the tavern, with the intent of seeing Jaskier. As you opened the door it saddened you to see Jaskier gone, although you supposed you left first. There was no sign of him, his clothes and lute gone, the bed now made as if you had never slept in it. With a heavy heart you began to put your now dry soap and your potions into the bag, your new dress joining them. You pushed the soiled dress under the bed, you weren’t sure where to leave it, a very confused future visitor would find it.

Now with the fresh intent of finding a mage to refill your enchantment potion and give you a new protection necklace, you headed towards the stables, sipping honey wine. Your mare Ash was being kept in the taverns stables, and you thirsted to see her and brush her fur before riding her to the nearest mage or town.

There leaning against the exact stable you needed to get into stood Jaskier, he most have talked to the stupid bar maiden about where to find you next. His doublet and trouser now the color of red candied apples, you wondered if he, like all bards, had an infant wardrobe that existed In its own pocket dimension. His doublet was unbuttoned, draped over his shoulder, revealing another poet blouse. This one was almost sheer, with ruffles also along the neck but also the cuffs, pearls sewn across the parchment colored blouse.

At the mere sight of you Jaskier burst into the widest fucking smile you had ever seen anyone give, it hurt you just looking at it. He then pulled something out from behind his back, a crown of flowers of some kind. He held it out offering it to you. On his wrist, under some ruffles, you now noticed a matching woven circle on his wrist and you wondered if Jaskier had woven them himself.

You took it from his hand, now inspecting it closer, it held big green flowers with reminded you of the flowers that accompanied them; Dandelions. On the base of the grown two different white flowers were woven in, the only difference was that one, an Arbutus if your training was right, had a visible stamen, while the other, a Stephanotis didn’t. You remembered something about the white flowers meaning, one was about love and wanting to travel, the other had always stood out to you, something like ‘Thee only do I love’.

“Your hair reminded of Dianthus Tick flowers, blame being a poet for that knowledge, so I went to a mage and purchased some. Now, stick with me, my name is actually Polish, although it’s technically just my stage name, it means dandelion, roughly speaking. Hence the dandelions, but they also reminded me of your eyes.”

Seeing the absence of the two white flowers in his explanation you assumed they meant what you thought them to, something he was too embarrassed to say. You finally placed the woven crown on your head, Jaskier placing another flower on Wolf’s head, the green Tick one. Thinking back to his rambling you were shocked to hear Jaskier wasn’t his real name, you just assumed he had very odd or foreign parents, not that it was his stage name. You felt that the act of him not telling you his real name actually hurt you quite a bit.

“Travel with me, please, don’t leave.”

You pulled back at Jaskier’s words, his plea, his offer. Why ask about letting you travel with him, or the other way around you assumed. Not much about it made sense. Or perhaps you had been right about those flowers, he did have feelings for you. You knew Jaskier worded it like you would be travelling with him, but it felt mutual, going where the other took you. As you looked down at Wolf you realized you couldn’t, didn’t want to really, pretend like none of this had happened.

It didn’t take much thought to make a decision. Head to the next town, kill the next monster, die when you got weak, die alone, maybe with Wolf if you got lucky, or travel with someone for once, happy. Although it would put him in more danger, a concept that pained you, but it wasn’t exactly like you could give up hunting, or Jaskier for that matter. The whole of it honestly sucked, it wasn’t like you could settle down, maybe marry Jaskier, perhaps have a kid, make bread while Jaskier sang for you. Sit on a porch swing while your children played in the yard. You were literally made to kill monsters, to travel, the option of kids ripped from you without much choice.

“I think I’d be an idiot to not accept, where too next Dandelion?”


End file.
